by Norris, Kris
Another two seconds and they were on the other side—trying not to breathe in the smoke. The steady black mass filling the warehouse. Making it hard to see more than ten feet in front of them.
They headed to the back, following a line of blood. Whoever had gotten out was hurt. Bad, judging on the amount of blood. The steady trail along the floor. It led to some pallets then disappeared out a rear door that was partially open—one large bloody handprint smeared across the handle.
Colt held up three fingers, slowly counting down then shoving the door aside. Cannon went high, Colt low, as they cleared the exit, sweeping both directions before shutting it behind them.
Colt took a quick scan then went to one knee. He held up more blood and a couple of buttons. “Looks like our vic took some countermeasures. Blood trail ends. Though, this much means they were standing here for a while.” He glanced up at Cannon. “I know it’s not much, but these buttons are pretty small for a man’s shirt. Let’s assume this is Jericho. Any idea where she’d go?”
“She’d be worried about being followed or hunted. If whoever ambushed them, blew up their car, would come back. She’d go someplace she felt safe. Assuming she can think clearly. That’s a lot of blood to still be functioning.”
Her blood. God, how wrong was it he hoped it was hers? That she wasn’t the body in the car? That being injured was the preferred outcome? Because based on the amount, she didn’t have long before she died, too.
“Cannon!”
He blinked, scowled at Colt. “What?”
“Get your head in the game. We need to find her, so…where would she go? On the run. Bleeding. Scared. Maybe not thinking too clearly. Possibly concussed. Obviously, her phone was in the damn car, which is why it stopped sending a signal. We have to assume she only has the clothes on her back. Nothing else to keep her safe. Where would she go?”
“My head is in the game. It’s just… I don’t know. Maybe there’s a safe house around here.”
“She sent you her location for a reason. She wanted you here. You helping her. That’s the key.”
“Fuck. The office. She helped me find it.”
Colt frowned. “I know it’s only a few miles away, but that’s pretty far in what I can only imagine is her condition. You sure?”
“If she’s conscious and has any form of rational thought, she’ll head there. Guaranteed.”
“Let’s go. I’ll see how far I can track her before we have to double back and get the truck. Might be hard, though. Not much to go on.”
Other than her blood. Colt didn’t say it, but it was there. Hanging between them. Sure, it looked as if she’d tried to stop the bleeding, but Cannon doubted she had the necessary supplies. So, the shirt or vest or whatever she’d tied around herself to buy some time would eventually bleed through.
He pushed down the doubt. It wouldn’t help them find her. “There’s a first aid kit in the truck. We’ll need it.”
“Roger that. Let’s see if we can get a bead on her. Assuming your theory’s correct.”
Colt struck off, heading for the far end of the building. He stopped, went to one knee, placed a hand on the ground before glancing at Cannon over his shoulder. “There’s a smudge of blood. Probably from a shoe. Not much but…”
“Follow it.”
Colt took off, again, pausing every few steps to examine the ground or the side of a building. A stack of bins. He’d study something then move. Never stopping for longer than a few seconds. They were two minutes into it when he pulled up short, motioning Cannon to join him. He’d been staying back—keeping watch. Making sure that whoever had hurt Jericho wasn’t still hanging around. Watching. Hunting her down. Would launch an attack against Colt.
Colt pointed to a few drops of blood. “We’re at the edge of how far I want to go without getting the truck.”
“You keep going. I’ll get it. Follow behind you.”
Colt snagged his wrist. “She can’t be too much farther. Not with the amount of blood she’s lost. I don’t imagine she’s moving that fast.” He stared at the long strip of asphalt. “Any chance she might have tried to requisition a vehicle? Think she knows how to hot-wire a car?”
“I’m sure the Marshal Service taught her a few tricks. Either way, I still say she’ll try for the office.”
“You know her best. Okay, I’ll keep—”
A noise.
Not much. Maybe someone bumping into a trash can. Or dropping a bottle. Breaking a window. But it got their attention. Had them both darting to the edge of the next building—seeking cover. It had been too soft, too damn low to pinpoint. But it was close.
Colt made a few hand signals. He’d go right. Cannon left. They’d clear the immediate area. Eliminate any threat. It would only take a minute. One they didn’t have to spare with Jericho out there. Bleeding. Dying.
God, he hoped that was the case—that they were following her. That she was still out there. Hurt he could handle. Fix. Dead… That was beyond his help. Would send him spiraling to a dark place—far worse than any of the deserts or jungles he’d waged war in. His own personal Hell. Void of any chance at love. Void of Jericho.
Colt made another signal then disappeared behind the corner. Cannon made his move. Blended into the shadows lining the wall. Picked his way up the side. Another soft sound. A boot against the pavement. Not quite a scuff. More like a misstep. A stumble.
Was that a grunt? Maybe a sharp inhalation?
Hard to tell with the damn metal buildings bouncing the sound around. But it wasn’t far. Just past the edge of the warehouse. He shuffled to the corner then popped out—ducking when a board swung toward his head.
A quick pivot and a step, and he had the fucker pinned…
Chapter Ten
“Christ.”
Her skin was so pale. Nearly as white as her tee, except where it was red. Which was easily over half of it. She’d balled up her button-down shirt and cinched her jacket around the wad—slowed the bleeding. But it was already soaking through the ends—a few drops dripping onto the ground.
And yet, even barely standing, she’d tried to defend herself. Had dragged her ass across a few blocks. The girl was as tough as they came.
“Jericho.”
Cannon holstered his gun, catching her when she slumped against him. God, it was like catching a dead body—boneless. She had just enough coordination to prevent her head from crashing against his chest, but that was it. She crumpled in his arms, her face curling against his shoulder.
“Easy, sweetheart. I’ve got you. But you need to stay awake, okay? Colt!”
Footsteps, then Colt was skidding in beside him. Kneeling at his level.
Cannon reached in his pocket. Handed Colt the keys. “Get the truck.”
His buddy didn’t say a word, just took off. There one second, disappearing around the building, the next. Cannon knew how fast the guy could run when needed, and damn—he needed it, now.
Cannon laid Jericho on the ground, performing a quick body scan—he needed to know if her obvious wounds were her only ones. A few cuts and bruises, most likely from the explosion, but nothing else looked nearly as bad as her side. Or her head.
Fuck, it appeared as if she’d smashed her head against a wall. Or maybe the dash. The window. All three. Either way, she definitely had a concussion. He just didn’t know how bad.
He cupped her jaw, keeping his touch light. “Jericho. Come on, sweetheart, you gotta look at me. Open your eyes.”
Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t open them. Didn’t do more than groan as her head lolled to one side.
“Jericho!”
He used his command voice. The one reserved for new members. That got them moving. Made them more afraid of him than whatever they were about to face. For Jericho, it got her eyes open. Glassy. Unfocused, but open.
He smiled. Wasn’t that hard to muster one because, despite her current condition, she was alive. And that meant he could still save her. Still find a way to make all
the dreams in his head a reality.
She managed to wrap one bloody hand around his wrist. “Cannon.”
“Right here. Colt’s getting the truck. Just hang on. I need to see how bad you’re hurt. Okay?”
He clenched his jaw at her nod—god, it looked as if it took whatever strength she had left just to move her head an inch. He only pulled the edge of her makeshift bandage back, not wanting to start it bleeding or destroy what little clotting there was before he had more supplies. Before he could stop it. Laceration. Long. Smooth edges. A number of things could have caused it. “Do you remember what happened?”
Another inch of movement—side to side. Of course, she didn’t remember. She was barely conscious. It was a miracle she was awake. Had remembered his name, let alone what had happened.
“It’s okay. Gonna get you fixed up.” He looked up when Colt roared to a stop beside him, jumping out of the truck with the first aid kit in hand. He tossed it on the ground next to Cannon then laid a blanket over her lower half.
Cannon muttered his thanks, opening the kit and grabbing what he needed. “I have to stop the bleeding. I’ve got some QuickClot. It’ll plug whatever’s leaking. Keep looking at me.”
He removed the shirt, cursing at the slice on her side. Larger than he’d first thought. Deep. Knife wound. No doubt about it, now. Big one, too. Like his damn Ka-Bar. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, those eyes rolling back when he used his knee to apply pressure while he grabbed some gauze.
“I know. Hurts like hell, but…you’ve lost a lot of blood. You can’t afford another drop.” He glanced at Colt. “Call Harborview. Tell them we’ll be there in five minutes. They’ll need a shit ton of blood.”
“No. Cannon. No.” Jericho tugged on his arm. Her grip much but stronger than before.
He frowned. “You need medical attention. A transfusion. Stitches. Maybe surgery. I can’t do that.”
“No hospitals. I…” She swallowed, nearly blacked out until she wet her lips. Stared up at him, again. “Too dangerous.”
“I’ll protect you—”
“Not there. You can’t…” She groaned, seemed to fade, then surged back. “Not from them.”
“I’ll call Art. He’ll send a platoon of marshals—”
“No.” She gulped in air, groaned in pain, then tried to grip him tighter. Failed, but he got the message. “Can’t…can’t be trusted.”
Fuck. If someone in the service was behind this…
“I hate to agree with her, Cannon, but we both know how hard it’ll be to isolate her at a hospital. Especially if she’s worried about her office finding out. That’s the first call they’ll make once they discover who she is. The place will be crawling with marshals inside of thirty minutes. And, with the kind of attention she’ll need, there’ll be a ton of people in and out of her room. No way we can vet them all. Not that it’ll matter if whoever did this wears a badge. Hell, we won’t even be in charge.” Colt speared one hand through his hair. “She’ll be vulnerable.”
“She’ll be dead if she doesn’t get help. Soon.”
“Is there somewhere else we can take her? Maybe a veterinary clinic? Or a private doctor? Or one of those volunteer clinics where you don’t need papers?”
“We don’t have time to…wait. Open the back door. There might be another option, but if not, we’re going to the hospital. I’ll fucking handcuff myself to her side, if necessary.”
Colt didn’t argue, jumping up then opening the door. He was sliding into the driver’s seat as Cannon cradled Jericho in his arms, his cell already in his other hand.
Cannon looked up at Colt. “There’re GPS coordinates for a guy named Ice in the nav. Launch them and head there unless I tell you otherwise.”
A rev of the engine, then they were moving. Fast but controlled. Cannon hit the contact number, praying his buddy was in town.
“Ya know, Cannon, if we’re going to spend this much time on the phone, maybe we should define our relationship.”
“Ice. Please tell me you’re in Seattle and not still in Montana.”
“Um, actually, yeah. Just got in. Harlequin’s got a photo shoot scheduled.”
“You at the loft?”
“As usual. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but Jericho… It’s bad, Ice. Knife wound. She’s lost a lot of blood.”
“And you’re not taking her to the hospital because?”
“She’s a Deputy U.S. Marshal, and her prisoner transfer just got jumped. She’s insisting it’s too dangerous. Guy in the back was a mafia hitman. But there’s a chance someone from the Marshal Service was involved. At least, that’s what she hinted at.”
“Fuck. All right. Bring her here. What’s your ETA?”
“About five minutes.”
“Roger. Lay it out for me. Is she responsive?”
“Barely. In and out. Wound’s large. Lower left side. Thinking it was a tactical knife. Hit her head, too. She’s pale. Pulse is weak. Skin clammy.”
“Keep her warm. With a suspected head injury, try to keep her flat. Press on her nail bed. Does it pinken once you release it?”
He tried. Swallowed the resulting punch of fear. “Not even close.”
“Do you know what blood type she is? Can you ask her?”
Cannon gave her a gentle shake in his arms. “Jericho. What blood type are you?” He tried, again, when she didn’t stir. “Come on, sweetheart. Talk to me.”
She blinked, managed to open one eye.
He leaned in close. “What’s your blood type?”
“AB nega….”
“Good girl. You get that, Ice?”
“Yup. And it’s good news. Means we have a lot more options than just O neg. Okay, I’ve got my bag ready. Supplies laid out. Harlequin will meet you downstairs. But, if your girl’s too far gone, we’re going to the hospital.”
His girl. Hell yeah, she was. And he wasn’t going to lose her. “Understood. Two minutes.”
Cannon was accustomed to keeping a running clock in his head. He could scale a wall, infiltrate an insurgent cell and eliminate the threat in under two minutes. It felt like forever in the back of the truck. Watching Jericho slowly slip into unconsciousness, despite him constantly talking. Begging her to stay awake. Knowing there wasn’t anything he could do he hadn’t already done. That Ice was her only hope.
The guy was brilliant. Had been a Pararescue tech—PJ—for a dozen years. Was one of the best medics Cannon had ever served with. The guy had singlehandedly saved hundreds of Special Forces soldiers. Had literally carried some back from behind enemy lines. Never considering his own safety. Had been booted over some shitstorm that had saved a Marine’s life.
Cannon prayed he could help Jericho because Colt was right. Cannon couldn’t cover every possible threat at the hospital—not if there were marshals involved. And he didn’t have the time to call in enough favors to have everyone who could be involved investigated. Not even if he called Jericho’s uncle. Fact finding took time. Time they didn’t have. Not right now.
Harlequin was standing outside an open warehouse door—much like the one where they’d found Jericho’s car—waving them in. She had it closing behind them and was already punching in the code to the elevator up to their loft by the time Cannon had Jericho out of the truck and was heading for the lift. The other woman didn’t talk, just deactivated all the security measures, ushering them into the space.
Ice had cleared a table and covered it with a sheet. He had what Cannon could only describe as a mini-trauma room set up. An IV stand. Bags. A bowl of water. Bandages. Instruments that gleamed in the overhead light. Ice waved them over then helped ease her onto the table.
In under sixty seconds, he had an IV started and had checked her vitals. Was assessing the damage to her side. “She’ll need blood. I’ve called Midnight and Rigs. They’ll be here shortly. But she can’t wait. Any of you guys Rh negative?”
Cannon grunted. “A negative.”
“Good. Sit. She
’ll need a pint or ten. What about you… I know I’ve seen you before. Delta, right? What’s your name, again?”
“Brett Sievers. My friends call me Colt. And sorry. I’m O positive.”
“That’s fine. Midnight and Bridgette can help. Quinn, too. I’ll hook myself up after I’m finished if she needs more. We should have enough. If not, I know where we can acquire some.”
Colt straightened. “Give me the address. I’ll go, now. Save you guessing later or having all of us weakened by multiple transfusions.”
Ice glanced up. Grinned. Rattled off the address.
Colt nodded. “I saw a motorcycle downstairs. It’ll be faster.”
Ice chuckled. “Harlequin will have your ass if you scratch it. Keys are on the table next to the door.”
The man nodded then left.
Cannon watched as Ice set up a direct transfusion—the red tube linking Cannon’s arm to hers. “Does this mean you can treat her?”
Ice grunted then grabbed a case and removed some kind of probe. “That’s the plan. Either way, she needs the blood. She’ll never make it to a hospital without any, now.”
Cannon frowned. “What the hell is that?”
“Portable ultrasound. I picked one up when it became apparent my medic days weren’t behind me. I swear, my brothers keep me busier as a civilian than I was in the Air Force. This will help determine if she needs more help than I can give her.”
He had a portable ultrasound?
Cannon didn’t question it. Didn’t care where Ice had picked it up. If he’d bought it, stolen it or had it donated. All Cannon cared was whether he’d wasted what precious little time Jericho had by bringing her here instead of insisting on the hospital.
“Relax, Cannon. She’s lost way more blood than I’d like, but she’s not going to die. Doesn’t look like the knife hit anything crucial. If it had…”